


Forgetting Sherlock

by systemofhaimish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, F/M, Lab Sex, One Shot, kinkmeme fill, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemofhaimish/pseuds/systemofhaimish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme fill:</p><p>I'm not a Sherlolly shipper, I'm Johnlock all the way, but somehow I've gotten tons of "Aww" moments from Sherlolly art and it's making me crave something sappy and/or smutty with those two. I had a thought. At the end of TRF, their conversation ("What do you need?" "You.") could easily have alternate connotations. What if there was a tad bit of comfort sexy times during the night before Sherlock meets Jim on the roof?</p><p>And MAYBE what if Molly gets pregnant, but can't tell anyone it's Sherlock's--can't even tell the not-dead man himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgetting Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

> Whelps, here's my first go at writing smut... STRAIGHT smut, no less. Britpicks and concrit are always welcome, because I haven't actually bothered to read this over after I wrote it... (I don't ship Sherlolly, either... I just really loved the prompt)

Sherlock let everything he was feeling spill out of him through his eyes: all his grief, his fears, his loneliness, his nervousness, his determination.  
  
"You."  
  
Molly, for all her fragile awkwardness, managed to maintain eye contact with the solemn detective standing in front of her, oh so close in front of her. The dim light of the deserted lab just barely betrayed the tiny gulp that she had to swallow down. She felt a shiver run down her spine when Sherlock's sharp eyes immediately flickered over her neck.  
  
"O— okay,” she managed to push without too much of a waver in her voice, “but... but what do you need?”  
  
She nearly squeaked a moment later, when she found her personal space completely invaded by six feet of dark, desperate consulting detective. She stumbled back into the door, and Sherlock stepped forward to follow her. They stood like that, mere centimetres apart from actually touching, Sherlock’s coat enveloping Molly as she craned her neck to return his sad, steady gaze.  
  
The moment stretched on for ages. Molly could feel her heart thrumming, not only from the initial shock of being surprised by the man’s low baritone ripping through the darkness, but also from their proximity, which felt so wonderfully and unnervingly intimate. He smelled clean, like chemicals, but musty, like aftershave. His breath was hot where it rained down on her face, his eyes piercing as they gazed through hers. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he could feel her shivering.  
  
And that’s when he closed the gap and kissed her.  
  
His lips were nothing like the sharp, biting words that they spewed so often. They felt soft, plush, but pushed insistently in a way that was very much evocative of Sherlock. It was several seconds before Molly could register the fact that, yes, those wonderful cupid’s bow lips that she had always admired were pressed against her own.  
  
She kissed back tentatively— just a small amount of pressure. But that was enough. As soon as she responded, Sherlock clutched her waist with both hands and pulled her in, trapping her hands between their bodies. She nervously wound her fingers into the lapel of his coat and closed her eyes. She hadn’t been kissed like this in ages. It felt... nice.  
  
Once again, Sherlock pushed things forward. His kisses grew increasingly faster, harder, deeper. The change was so gradual that Molly barely even noticed when his mouth threatened to bruise hers or when his palms slid down from her hips. With his tongue, he nudged open Molly’s lips and plundered her supple mouth. He began to thrust it, kneading her arse at the same tempo. She sucked on the smooth underside of his tongue and was rewarded with a wet, helpless groan that vibrated out of the back of his throat. The sound shot through Molly’s body like electricity, and suddenly the space between her legs felt uncomfortably damp and... empty. She gave a gasp and unintentionally broke the kiss.  
  
Sherlock pulled back ever so slightly, and, much to Molly’s dismay, removed his hands from her backside. He absorbed her flushed, shining face through dark, heavily-lidded eyes.  
  
“Molly,” he whispered in something of a dark purr that made the woman squirm needily. She pulled her fingers away from his coat, afraid that she had done something wrong. Immediately, Sherlock grabbed her hand with one of his own.  
  
“I have a plan to get rid of Jim Moriarty,” he continued. As he spoke, he reached for Molly’s bag and pulled it off her shoulder, letting it thump to the floor.  
“But I need to go away. Far away. And no one can know where I am, or that I’m alive.” He released her hand and slid her coat off, as well.  
He reached for her cardigan next, but paused there as he murmured, “It’s quite possible that I may never return.” His voice had begun to shake a little, but his fingers moved deftly as he undid the single button. He continued onto Molly’s floral print shirt as she absorbed the words without adding any of her own.  
“I may never see any of my... any of my _friends_ again.” He undid the top button.  
  
“I may never see John...” Two more buttons.  
  
“...Or Mrs Hudson...” Another two.  
  
“...Lestrade...” The last two.  
  
Sherlock paused in his soft flow of hypnotising murmurs. “I may never see _you_ again, Molly.”  
  
He pulled the shirt open and finally allowed his gaze to wander away from the woman’s sweet brown eyes. Her whole body felt like it was on fire against the sudden rush of cool air against her skin, and she sucked her belly in self-consciously. Immediately, Sherlock gave a slight huff of protest and his hands fluttered down to clutch her bare waist.  
  
“No, none of that,” he murmured, massaging her smooth skin with his thumbs until she relaxed. “I need you. I told you, I need _all_ of you.”  
  
He continued running gentle circles with his fingers and lowered his face to rest against her soft breasts. Too small, he had once called them, but in that moment, they were just enough to hang onto. His wild curls brushed against Molly’s collarbone, leaving behind a tingling feeling.  
  
“Anything you need, Sherlock,” she managed to exhale faintly. Her nipples were already peaked and threatening to show through the thin fabric of her bra, and she desperately craved something, anything, to touch her where she needed it. She shifted her weight, parting her legs just a little bit wider in her stance.  
  
Sherlock noticed. He lifted his head and kissed a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses up her neck, hands shaking as they slid down to fumble at the zip of her trousers. Molly had to fight to keep her squeaks inside of her, although she couldn’t help but squirm impatiently.  
  
Finally, Sherlock managed to slip his hand into her knickers, the other hand reaching up to squeeze her breast firmly. Two long, graceful violinist’s fingers slid easily into the slick heat of her entrance, while his thumb rubbed against her clit. Her moan was swallowed by his mouth as it clamped firmly over hers.  
  
The initially surge of burning pleasure eased into a warm glow, and Molly soon became aware of something stiff rubbing against her thigh. Everything that Sherlock did to her felt so intense and wonderful, and yet she still wanted more. She wanted to feel him inside of her. She wanted to relieve him of the shocking emotions she had seen in his pale eyes.  
  
Her hands, which had been clutching at the ends of her shirtsleeves, grabbed the man’s waistband, instead. Sherlock broke the kiss and panted heavily, giving Molly one final thrust before cruelly retracting his moist fingers from her body. With them, he pushed down her knickers and trousers. While she toed off her shoes and kicked the whole ensemble aside somewhat impatiently, Sherlock undid the fastenings on his own trousers just enough to free his cock, sighing as cool air slapped against his sweat-dampened flesh.  
  
Molly wrapped her arms around the man’s neck and looked deep into his eyes seriously. “You know that I’ll always help you, Sherlock,” she whispered. “I’ll always be here if you need me.”  
  
Sherlock’s hands landed back on her hips, much more gently than they had been before. He carefully pressed her back against the door and chastely brushed his lips over hers, his curved erection trapped between the heat of their bodies. He spoke so quietly that Molly nearly missed it when he sighed, “I know. That’s why I chose you.”  
  
They kissed again. And again. They both let their sorrows flow into the other’s mouth in a clash of lips and tongue, heat and wetness. Molly twisted her fingers through Sherlock’s hair, and Sherlock ground his hips against Molly’s. Finally, when both were moaning with need and threatening to burst, Molly found herself being lifted, Sherlock’s sure hands clutching her thighs and guiding her legs around his waist. She tightened her hold on his curls and gave a particularly loud moan as he brought her back down, letting himself glide into her body and fill her completely. Molly felt her entire being wrap around him— her Sherlock: her genius, attractive, so impossibly _hard_ Sherlock. She let herself rock against him, eliciting a choked groan from his throat.  
  
Keeping her pressed securely against the door, Sherlock raised her up once more, snapping his thin hips up to meet her as she dropped back down. This drew out another moan from the both of them. He continued moving, thrusting his hips, letting the woman in his hands bounce up and down, squeezing the damp flesh of her thighs, relishing the desperate noises she made as he mouthed at her breasts.  
  
Molly felt every thrust resonate deeply within her core. Her nerves felt like they were on fire, and she could feel the heat building between her legs where Sherlock was so eagerly impaling her. His rough coat brushed against her bare legs with every push. She was close, so close to finishing, just barely teetering on the edge, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. But she wanted to see Sherlock. Even though she had craved this moment for years, it was his need that was being satisfied.  
  
She tilted her chin down and peeked through her eyelashes to see a man that she had never before believed could exist. His mouth hang open slightly, panting and moaning spectacularly, and his eyes were half-closed and unfocused with physical pleasure. The great Sherlock Holmes was buried deep inside her body, driven senseless with desire. For her.  
  
And that was all it took to bring her to climax.  
  
Molly had to shut her eyes against a wall of bright white as an overwhelming wave of heat washed over her body. Her thighs trembled and her fingers threatened to yank Sherlock’s hair right out of his head. She cried out as her muscles spasmed around his shaft. The incredible tightness produced a rather inhuman noise from Sherlock as he continued to move through her orgasm. He could feel the pressure building in his cock and, with one final thrust, came deep inside her, biting her neck fiercely and never stopping his motions until his erection softened and finally slipped out of her body.  
  
Panting and groaning, Sherlock carefully lowered Molly back to the ground, making sure that she could support herself on her unsteady legs before he pulled his hands away from her hips. She could feel his come deep inside her, fighting against gravity to stay inside her body. Untangling her fingers from Sherlock’s hair, she bashfully dropped her head onto his chest. Without really thinking about it, Sherlock wound an arm around her shoulders. Beneath her cheek, she could feel his heart beating heavily, much like her own. The thought brought a smile to her lips.  
  
“Molly,” he rumbled, still holding her close. She nuzzled closer in response, but he sighed and tipped her head up to look at him. His bottom lip drooped in a pout and his eyes were soft and full of grief. Molly’s smile faded as she remembered that this was a goodbye.  
  
“Please don’t think badly of me,” Sherlock murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He let his hand caress her cheek on its way down. “Don’t forget me while I’m away.”  
  
Molly gave a quick nod and looked down, feeling tears threatening to form behind her eyes. She finally had the most amazing man she had ever met and he was already slipping through her fingers. Her stomach twisted painfully. None of it seemed fair.  
  
“Can’t you stay?” she mumbled, tracing the man’s sensitive flaccid penis with a fingertip before tucking it back into his trousers for him. He sucked in a tense breath and carded his fingers through her ponytail, considering. The silence stretched on and Molly felt her heart dropping.  
  
“Never mind, it’s fi—“ she began, before Sherlock cut her off.  
  
“May I stay with you until morning?”  
  
Stunned, Molly stared at him, but Sherlock had turned his face away, choosing to study a patch of wall behind her shoulder, instead. Slowly, Molly dissected his words, her smile returning as she understood. She grasped his hand comfortingly.  
  
“Anything you need, Sherlock.”  
  


-

Nearly two months later, Molly found herself in a small clinic after emptying the contents of her stomach into a bin that morning. When the news was delivered to her, she cried out of a mixture of terror and delight. However long that Sherlock would be away, she would never be able to forget him.


End file.
